


go tell aunt rhody

by roddiimus



Series: an ode to lmanberg [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Toby Smith | Tubbo, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Curses, Dadza, Dead Toby Smith | Tubbo, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Ghost Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Good Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Injury, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Jschlatt is Tubbo’s Father, Lmanberg Presidential Curse, Major Character Injury, No beta I’ll die like tubbo in this fic, No one really knows though it’s important, Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Abuse, Post-Betrayal, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Puffy is Schlatt’s sister, Sleepy Bois Inc + Tubbo - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Younger Sibling Toby Smith | Tubbo, biological, i don’t make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roddiimus/pseuds/roddiimus
Summary: when president tubbo died, the curse upon lmanburg’s grounds was supposed to have died with him.his ghost, however, did not- and when no one can enter the gilded cage of his city except his estranged father, what is a man to do?or: phil’s children are not alright.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Don’t ship minors, Past Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Past Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy - Relationship, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, and they’re only mentioned at most, only the ‘canons’
Series: an ode to lmanberg [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063268
Comments: 18
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

philza’s sons have never went out beloved men.

wilbur pushed his hand to a button on the wall, lit his eyes with the flames of his country, cut his palms on the blade of his execution and cackled. his gaze bore into his father’s, manic and weepy, the tears flowing down his cheeks appearing as flames that burned through his skin. his hands had clutched at his robes, his laughter wet and blood-speckled, and he had gone limp with a smile on his face. his ghost cried over the note blocks he didn’t understand, shuddered at the cold gazes cast upon him by his former citizens, his son.

techno threw his brothers into the fray and laughed as they scrambled. the voices held him tightly, jeered in his ears, whispered aside him, hands biting into his shoulders, claws digging into his spine. he stood alongside the withers he birthed, howled his joy as they destroyed everything that had been fought for, and when all was said and done he fled to a far corner of the tundra, hunted, alone, and haunted by the screams he never could silence, no matter how hard he pulling his hair or tore the piercing connecting his ear and his nose.

tommy was thrown to the wolves, left to the hands of a blank-faced monster who held his face in his hands as he stabbed through his stomach. he lived alone, his clothes falling apart, his toes turning white from the bite of winter, his eyes becoming hollow and sad. he waited his days beside a portal that no one could muster the courage to step through and, when the ball finally dropped and everything he had come to accept as his new normal slipped away, he fled. forgotten, alone, forever.

oh, but tubbo.

as he nursed the cold of his grey, flesh-torn hands, as his ghostly head lolled as its skin and joints broke like a marionette losing its strings, as he tugged the projection of the lmanberg flag tighter around his shoulders, the sockets where his eyes should be widening and welling with inky tears,

phil would give anything to have known what he did now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags for injury description pls <3

life was quiet without the strenuous act of war.

phil found himself a morning routine. he woke up at 5:45 on the dot, and laid in bed until 6:00, when he finally was able to steel his body against the bitter cold that was sure to bite at his toes the second he left the cocoon of his blankets. he stuffed his feet into a pair of thick, wool-lined house shoes, dyed a home-made green and sewn by the hands of his own sons, and shuffled downstairs, his wings dragging limply behind him. they would not perk up until he had had his first cup of tea, which he set to right away, boiling the kettle overtop the gas-funneled stove and rolling his leaves up into small bags to steep. for techno, he set up a smaller pot, his finely ground coffee beans submerged into the water, to be ready when he woke up. his son always preferred coffee to tea this early in the morning. said it made his stomach twist. his own mixture was a ginger mixed with lemon, smelling strongly of citrus and stinging the inside of his nose when he took a whiff of it. tommy would turn his nose up at it. for his teenage son, he set up a glass- round and shaped like a wine glass, though there wasn’t much alcohol to find here, not after the disaster of lmanberg’s second president- to be filled with milk when his youngest appeared.

at 6:20, with the kettle warming and the coffee heating in the pot, he set to work on the dishes from the night before. he always chose to leave them until the next day; it was easier to start off on a productive note if he had to do something first thing. It was getting harder to want to get up and work every day now, especially this early, but it was a nice way to force himself into gear- and to shake off the nightmares of the sleep he had just had. When the kettle hissed around 6:25, he would set the tea to brew, and decide that this was a new day, and start again.

every morning, without fail, phil did this. it helped him get through.

he held his glass in his hand, the ice cubes in his tea slowly melting away in the hot liquid. upstairs, he could hear creaking, and the heavy sound of footsteps. techno must be awake; only his piglin child would make steps like that. a small smile curved the corners of his mouth. he hoped his son appreciated the coffee. it was a fresh grind, he had just done so the night prior with ghostbur, so it should be strong as ever. his son had been so quiet lately. not in the typical techno way, either- ghostbur kept trying to push blue at him, his eyebrows creased with worry when he entered the room. his son was so reserved, however, he knew he would never get anything out of him. still, he kept his door open, and hoped the morning coffee could at least remind him he wasn’t alone, whatever pressured his mind. speak of the devil, the son himself appeared at the stairs only a few minutes later, his long hair tucked into a messy bun atop his head, a few loose strands hanging down and catching around his long bottom tusks. his eyes were heavy with circles, and his empirical cloak was pulled over his pajamas, leaving him looking overworked and underslept, but when he saw him he smiled, and allowed phil to pull him into a hug.

“ what the hell are you drinking? “

“ ginger lemon tea. it’s good for your immune system, you know. coffee is on the stove, mate, help yourself. “

“ it smell disgusting, “ he thanked him, pouring himself a mug of black. when he thought Phil wasn’t looking, he poured in two spoonfuls of sugar and sat down across from him. “ ghostbur was outside all last night. “

“ was he now? “ 

“ he can’t stain his own hands, but he can stain the snow. it looks like eret’s castle collapsed out there. “

he chuckled, only imagining what the spirit had gotten up to. having discovered what he could and could not touch properly, he had taken to making dyes when they were asleep. atypically he would do it with tommy, a task meant to calm the boy down and sooth him when he got overwhelmed, but sometimes he got bored and couldn’t help himself. he had shown tommy how to make the dyes of his slippers; it had been the first dye the boy had made properly. he had been so proud of him.

“ we’ll shovel it later. it didn’t get on any of our building supplies, did it? “

“ thankfully no. how could we strike fear into the hearts of men when our castle is neon pink? “

their ‘castle’ was a two story cottage, a basement sunken and half exposed, with a small tower poking out the top to mark as a third floor. it was all dark oaks and clunky smooth stone, a splash against the stark white exterior that covered their empire, and he loved it. the rooms were still drafty and the boys still fought over whos bedrooms went where, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, not when his sons tripped over themselves coming in after a long day of work, tommy giggling into his arm then squawking as techno stole the steaming glass of tea from his hand, the two sitting on the couch with ghostbur at their side, trying to pretend they weren’t leaning together to ward off the chill that took over their fingers and noses. They had made something for themselves out of a bad situation and he was so proud of them for it.

“ i don’t know, techno, neon pink can be rather shocking to the eyes. maybe we could blind them before they even get to us. “

“ phil. we are not painting the castle pink. “

“ as your father i demand it. “

“ what are we painting pink? “ tommy appeared in the doorway, a thick horsehide blanket around his shoulders- it was one phil had made when he was young, when everything had a use and nothing could go to waste. he had filled out since racooning in Techno’s basement, his hair pulled into a small, messy manbun, his hair undercut into the shape of a half-record. hi youngest rubbed his eyes, blinking sleepily at them for a moment, gaze lazy and confused. phil pointed to the counter, and he followed after a moment, licking his lip. His voice was raspy with sleep. “ ..oh. thanks, phil. “

he poured his glass of milk and slunk over to them, tucking himself further into the blanket until only his head and his hand, holding his glass, stuck out. phil hugged him from the side as he sat down, laying his head on his tall baby’s shoulder. “ did you sleep well? “

tommy hummed under his breath as an answer, and took a sip, which turned to a drink that emptied half the cup. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “ sleepy. “

“ me too, mate. “ he patted his arm.

“ better wake up. we’ve got work to do today, “ techno piped up.

“ do we have to? “ tommy grumbled, swinging one of his legs underneath the table. jittery child. “ If you want to have a room with walls, yes. “

“ you’re already putting walls up inside? “ phil raised an eyebrow. “ how far did you get when I was mining yesterday? “

“ we got the roof on yesterday. tommy was a big help. “

“ damn right i was. “ when he looked at tommy, he could see a white mustache over his lip. he laughed, and motioned at him to wipe his mouth. “ shocking. “

“ hey! “

“ you’ll have to give ghostbur some idea of furniture, i’m sure he’ll enjoy dying it. “ out the window, frosted and foggy from the early morning, he could see his other twin boy, perched underneath the outhanging roof of the stables, where friend resided alongside techno’s horses. the sheep was asleep, legs folded comfortably underneath his winter fluff. ghostbur hopped down beside him and dropped into the snow, arms splayed out. phil chuckled. at least, until he figured out the proper enchantment configuration to bring him back, he was happy. he hardly even realized he was dead, sometimes.

“ well, i hope you like sewing, because you’re going to have to help. “

“ i did make all of your cribs by hand, techno, i’m sure I can make your bed frames with ease. “

his son chuckled, and phil held out a hand for his glass, now empty, small sugar granules floating in the bottom of the mug where they failed to melt. “ go get dressed, mate, i’ll clean up down here. you too, tommy. “

they didn’t eat breakfast often. too early for that. it gave more room for a big lunch.

the blonde gave him his own glass, stretching his back out as he tossed his arms. His yawn was dramatic and loud, just like tommy was expected to be. “ thanks, dad. “

“ come on, theseus, we have logs to pull, “ techno drawled from the stairs.

“ relax, bitch, “ he crowed, and dissapeared after him.

phil chuckled. “ behave, boys, “ he scolded gently, placing the cups into the sink to be washed the next morning. as he went upstairs to change, he heard his boys trundle back down the stairs, tommy crowing something as they went outside. he chuckled.

those boys.

—— 

the wind bit at his face, and phil puffed into his frozen hands. even with a bomber hat, tugged firmly over his ears, lined with thick blue fur (from friend, of course), and a heavy cloak across his shoulders and falling to his knees, he still couldn’t keep out the bitter cold of the arctic. he was jealous of techno for being so naturally thick-skinned, he and wilbur born to withstand the high temperatures of the nether and the hard stone they would have walked on, had he not found them and swept them into his life. 

or, maybe it was the other way around. he had been wrapped around their fingers, after all.

“ boys, “ he called. his voice was lost to the wind. ahead of him, though a window, he could see tommy trying to goad techno into wrestling, the tall blonde clinging to his back like a leech, legs around his waist, arms around his neck. techno’s hands were fisted in his shirt and around his neck and shoulders, trying to pry him off, though he could tell he wasn’t upset; he could have gotten tommy off if he really wanted to. he squinted, his eyes stinging. were they even working?

phil hopped onto the staircase, and ducked into the porch, shaking out his wings. it wasn’t snowing today, but the wind had blown enough against his clothes to appear as if it had. he breathed a few hot breaths into his gloves, and entered the house, the dark oak door creaking from the frozen hinges. “ boys! “

the noises upstairs stopped, and after a moment techno poked his head down the stairwell. “ hey, dad. “

“ what are you, ah, what are you doing up there? “

“ carpentry. “

“ oh? i didn’t realize carpentry now includes beating on your brothers. “

“ he started it. “

phil rolled his eyes, and, when he made his way upstairs, he whacked techno with his wing. “ i’m sure. what do you still need? “

tommy was on the ground, rubbing his head, smearing dust across his face in the process. a stark grey streak covered one side of his dark blue undershirt, where techno must have dropped him. he smiled sheepishly when he saw him. “ hi, phil. “

he held out a hand to him. “ come on, mate, up you get. “

with tommy back on his feet, he allowed himself to toss his cloak to the side, his bomber hat joining it. he stretched his wings out. “ lovely, there’s wingroom this time. “

“ i’m sorry, i didn’t know I was gonna have my whole family move in with me spontaneously, “ techno huffed. phil chuckled and patted his shoulder. “ don’t worry, i forgive you. “

he spluttered. phil clapped his hands together, smiling cheekily at his son as he glowered over his tusks. “ alright, you two, let’s get to work, aye? “

while his sons were tasked with pulling the log chests inside, cut the previous days to be used for their flooring, phil was given the job of getting their stone chests sorted together and brought up. with tommy’s helpful hands on board, no chest would ever be emptied or sorted properly. it was why he was now sitting out on the covered back porch shielded from the wind, dumping chests upon chests out across the stone foundation and shuffling through the items, putting them into chests for “stone”, and chests for “waste”. unsurprisingly, the “waste” chest was quickly filling up, an assortment of dirt, flowers, and granite tossed into the chest and being pushed to the corner. he couldn't help but chuckle. he really was a mess.

“ phil! “ ghostbur popped up in front of him. his white eyes were blown wide, a grin split across his freckled cheeks, exposing his oversized bottom cuspids. at one point, they had curled over his lip, but they had worn down over time, and now they only poked out from his mouth, like tiny white rings. phil chuckled, and put down the half stack of cobblestone he was carrying. “ hello, ghostbur. “

“ what are you doing? “ he hopped up beside him, his feet never quite touching the ground as he flitted in between phil’s piles. he disappeared into a waste pile, and pulled out a wilting flower, tucking it behind his ear- tommy must gave found it in a lush cave. it held for several moments, suspended in the air, before falling through to the ground. ghostbur chuckled. “ can i help? “

“ if you can hold them long enough, sure. “ he knelt to pick back up his stack. “ we’re going to need your help soon. techno wants to dye our furniture. “

his face brightened, mouth curling into a ‘o’. “ oh, really! wonderful! friend and i will do the best job we can! “

phil passed him a chest, emptied of its contents. “ here. im sure you will, he’s a good little helper. “ typically, friend’s ‘help’ meant his peachy legs would be covered a variety of colors until he could roll in the snow to clean it all off, otherwise he would track it all over the barn. one of tommy's shirts, which he kept hidden in his drawers, was a testament to his paint habits, having blue footprints streaking up across the white fabric. when techno had laughed, he had flushed, and shuffled off to his room, never to see the shirt again.a good little helper, indeed.

ghostbur tilted his head. “ what do you want in this, phil? “

“ see all of these items? I need it sorted into cobblestone, “ he pointed to the grey stone, “ and not cobblestone. “ he pointed to the piles in the corner.

his son hummed quietly, and disappeared into the mess.

phil chuckled, and sat down, cross-legged on the floor to continue his sorting. ghostbur was always a great help to have around, in more than just his love for color and his insistence of cure-all blue. he was always so happy. being around him was nearly impossible not to feel the slightest twinge of happiness. it practically bled off of the spirit, even in dire situations. (technoblade’s execution, for one.) if tommy was the wild child, and techno the successful, wilbur was the clown, through and through, even in the afterlife.

(what did that make tubbo?)

“ phil? “ ghostbur appeared in front of him, holding a chest in his hands. it wobbled in his grip, then slipped through his hands, clattering against the stone porch. phil flinched against the noise, leaning into his shoulders to cover his ears. damn, that hurt. “ what’s up, mate? “

“ do you want this one emptied, too? “ phil picked it up, and gently shook it. something inside of it rattled against the walls, and he propped it against his knees. “ yeah, we’ll use what’s in this one, too. “

he popped the lid, made to empty it- and froze. inside were four simple stacks of blackstone, their sides dusty and worn from their time sitting in the chest, waiting to be put to use. the longer he watched, he was able to make out the slight glimmer of the strength potion, tossed across the stones to solidify them further and to keep them holding strong. his eyebrows upturned, and he swallowed, closing the lid. “ on second thought, ghostbur, let’s set this one aside.”

“ hm? why is that, phil? what’s inside? “

“ don’t worry about it, okay? “ he forced a smile onto his face.

(the walls were high, high above his head, but this time it wasn’t the man in the mask building them, it wasn’t the man in the mask shutting the town off forever,

it wasn’t the man in the mask who caused the prodigal city to fall.)

“ everything is alright. “

—— 

5:50. tea time.

this far into the arctic, daylight was short. by this time, the sun was long, its rays turning the snow peach and pink as it stretched towards him, grappling for its last few futile minutes before giving way to the night. techno did not like having them work when it was dark; torchlight needed to be conserved, especially when winter would arrive and daylight would become even shorter; when his boys had been young, sometimes it would limit to only three hours a day. he had been here before. he understood the reasoning. the lack of work left him with too much time to think.

he lowered his nose into his mug. perched by the window, mutton crackling over in the furnace, he could almost pretend that everything was alright, that he was back to being a young man again, resting after tucking his two little boys into bed for the night. but he was not that man anymore. he could never be that man again, not with what he had seen and done.

when his fingers touched the smooth side of his glass, all he could feel was the slick blackstone, heavy in his hands, weak hands. he flinched.

“ phil? “

he peered to the side, where techno stood, a blanket draped around his shoulders, hair hanging loosely around his shoulders. he looked tired and, when he moved to sit beside him, he could see tape along his muscles, a brace on his knee. he grimanced. “ mate, are you alright? “

“ my muscles are just sore. it’s different, i’m not used to carrying heavy items so consistently. i’ll be alright. “ his son’s eyes bore into his, irises dark brown and reaching, enough to make a shiver twitch through phil’s spine. “ are you? “

“ i don’t know what you’re talking about. “

“ phil. “

“ … “

“ dad. “

ah. 

the trap card.

“ ...i found the stone. blackstone. what we used to... to close off l’manberg. “

they didn’t talk about l’manberg in their home. it was a taboo topic; like a curse, poison to the tongue. government was not welcome in the cabin, in the castle. not with techno at the reins; he did not want those topics in his home, and phil accepted and understood that, just as he was able to quell the teasing of ‘the zombie story’, or tommy was able to ban discussions of pogtopia. they did not like to dwell on their traumas. he could see it in techno’s eyes when he spoke, saw the way he flinched and his pupils shrunk, his lips curling back just the slightest bit, defensively flashing his tusks.phil raised a hand to his back, pressing it into the small to steady his son. “ techno. “

“ what about it? “ the piglin hybrid grumbled. “ it’s just some rocks. “

“ ...you know it isn’t. “

it wasn’t just rocks, when it cut off the home his boys worked so hard to build, creating history without the lingering legacy of their father. wilbur’s body was buried in lmanberg, safely beneath the only tree to survive their massacres and wars. those rocks surrounded a city that his lost their lives for, all three of them in some cases. it was not just rocks. not when he had stood outside of them, holding a worn, understuffed bee in his arms as the former vice president screamed in his face about morals and rights and tried to deny him his son’s body, when philza resorted to violence for his first action and punched quackity square in the nose.

“ they aren't just rocks, techno, they… “ he trailed off.

his oldest was quiet for several moments, looking out over the arctic. he watched him nervously. he could only hope he had not upset him as well. phil could not take it if he damaged his bond with three of his four children. he knew it was a sensitive topic, knew they had agreed to not talk about it, but-

“ put your tea down. “

“ h-hm? “

“ put it down, come on. let’s go to the castle. “

techno pulled him to his feet, and thrust his cloak into his chest. the thick collar fluffed against his face, leaving his spitting from the fur. hardly a moment was spared for phil to get ready, and he was left scrambling after his son, running out into the snow after him. techno lit a torch, holding it aloft in the darkening sky, not wasting a beat for him. typical techno behavior, really. he grabbed onto his sleeve when he caught up, and techno draped one corner of his own cloak over his shoulder, careful of his wings, folded delicately against his back. “ why are we going to the castle? “ no answer. “ techno? “

his son hopped onto the porch, guiding him through the doorway. “ back porch? “

“ th- the cobblestone? yes, it is, but- “

techno didn’t wait for him to answer, disappearing and returning with the chest, covered in dust from the day’s work and locked tightly, where phil had pushed it out of sight. out of sight, out of mind, right? the piglin hoisted it up onto his shoulder, motioning him to follow with a hand, phil blinking in confusion behind him. it took him a few moments to stumble after him, watching him from the doorway to catch his berings. what the hell was he doing? the torch was pushed towards him and he took it in his hands, using his remaining one to clutch the folds of his cloak against his breast. from the sky, flakes of snow began to fall, slow and large, brushing against his red skin. he tucked his face further into the rabbit hide collar, eyes watering. his son lead him back to the cabin, around back where they did not often go. a few feet from the stone walls, far enough to prevent any accidental sparking or wind was a lava pit, four blocks wide and crackling, bubbly from the magma blocks underneath keeping it hot. covering it were trapdoors, to prevent one tom from tumbling in when he tried to sled down the back hill, or mlg bucket off of the roof. techno kicked up the trapdoors, and dropped the chest with a thump.

“ ...you’re burning them? “

“ i’m not. we are. “ he fished out a stack, and tossed it to phil, who lost his grip on the torch to catch it. the flame fizzed out with a sharp hiss, and techno laughed. he urged him closer to the side. “ toss it, come on. “

he hesitated a moment, but only a moment. when the blackstone hit the lava, the strength potion spitting in protest as it was burned off the hard sides, bubbles spitting up towards the sky, cloudy and indigo, he could not help but chuckle. beside him, his son threw in a half stack, and cackled. one by one, they threw in the damned stone, watching as the lava ate them and burned them apart, their pieces bobbing until the boiling liquid ate it clean through. standing here, he felt warm, warm enough to loosen his grip on his cloak. techno put an arm on his shoulder, and pulled him closer. “ ...it’s okay, dad, “ he said quietly. “ to be sad. “

“ ...i miss him so much. “

“ i know. “ his voice was not much more than a whisper. “ i do too. “

a pause, his oldest’s eyes shimmering in the glow of the lava. here, he could see the highlights of scars across his pale skin, the tear in one of his long ears, the patch along his hairline where hair no longer grew from scarring. once, he could have ran his fingers across them and scolded him for being reckless. now, they were reminders he was alive. “ phil, do you wanna go see him? “

“ ...i’d like that. “

techno carried the chest up to the house, and phil waiting outside, huddling against the wall to avoid the wind. snowflakes gathered on his cloak, and he dusted them off with one hand. when techno returned, he gave him a pair of gloves.

tubbo’s grave was a nice thing, tucked into a manmade cave a short walk from the cabin, maybe two minutes at most. (only a few yards from where he had died). icicles hung down from the opening, shimmering in the light of the soultorches, holding strong against the cold that bit at them and threatened to shut them out. he knew tommy would come light them every night before bed. beside the stone was a small bee plush, worn from the snow and misshapen from use. on the other was a jukebox, battered and cracking. sometimes it stuttered, sometimes it did not play its music right anymore, but Tommy had refused to get rid of it. it was theirs, he had protested. he gently pulled away from techno’s side as they stepped inside, and dropped to the ground, folding his legs and resting his hands in his lap. his son shuffled beside him, and soon his warmth radiated through his side as he joined him, leaning back onto his hands, legs crossed. phil picked up the bee, pressing his face to it, wrapped in his arms.

he wished things could have been different. he wished he had noticed sooner what ailed his youngest, that he had pieced together every story from every president, and had noticed his suffering before it was manipulated and turned against him. he wished he had let techno hunt dream that night, stabbed him dead before he could flee like the coward he was, taking the truth of the coding of l’manberg with him. he wiped at his cheeks, hand coming back wet.

he could not do any of that.

he had to forget l’manberg. there was nothing there for him. all he needed was here.

—— 

but that was not true, was it?

he had come back to the smp for the sole purpose of visiting fundy and his great-granddaughter, living with eret for the time being. eonias was not quite six months old, born not long before tommy was exiled, with a gummy smile that fundy had warned would start showing teeth soon, and a tiny, stubby tail that twitched whenever she saw him. she was truly the only good thing dream ever gave them, smily and giggly and constantly hanging off of poor miah, whenever his aunt puffy brought him for a visit. schlatt’s son was a shock, he had known from tommy that alex was expecting, but his baby was a true mystery. with white hair and pink eyes, he was easy to pick out in a crowd, with little goat ears poking from his hair. he did not like phil much, choosing instead to hang off of his aunt or eonias, who was all to eager to babble at him, despite him being a few months younger than she was.

it was nice to see little ones again; their parents might not have been the best of people, but it was hard to see them in the tiny little beings, with wide eyes and oversized heads, unable to even sit up properly. (he wondered if this was the same way he saw techno, back during the heydays of new l’manberg- when everyone saw a monster, and all he could see was his son, bandages across his then tanned face, tooth missing, brandishing a stone sword like a battle hardened warrior.) fundy was still nervous about letting others around eonias for that very reason- her other parent. he didn’t want anyone to blame her for the crimes of her father, to see the little kit for who she could be, not what dream set down for her. it was why tommy had not visited yet. considering the trauma dream had put him through, fundy wanted to wait. it disappointed his son, he was excited to be a great uncle (holy shit that almost made him feel more old than being a great grandfather), but he had kept his distance. trying to respect boundaries and mature, to an extent.

wounds were still fresh in their minds. 

that was how he found himself outside of l’manberg, holding onto carl’s reigns (techno had insisted he not take anything subpar, not when he was traveling like he was) and looking up the tall walls. they loomed far, their shadow falling far across the land, covering the river, l’targay, everything unfortunate enough to be built close to the former country. it was walls tubbo was trying to avoid, wasn’t it? why he exiled tommy? why this nightmare started to begin with?

he patted carl’s side, pressing his forehead to his neck. “ stay put, mate, “ he mumbled. “ i just want to take a look. “

the horse chuffed, his eyes reminding him so much of techno. he would be so disappointed in him, going against his word to stay away from the city like this. he had made a promise. but he would not be going far. looking inside for a few minutes would not hurt. just to see what was left behind. he unfolded his wings, grateful for the warmer weather here. his joints did not hurt quite as bad, and he gave them a good shake. With a hard flap, he shot into the sky, into the clouds and cresting the top of the walls. beneath him, l’manberg stood strong, like the day he had left. techno had never had the chance to unleash his withers, never had the chance to attack the government, make his statement. the city was left standing, a monument to history that was best left be. which, of course, was why phil was entering.

he slowed his descent, wings fluttering to ease him to the stage. the banners still hung, their edges tattering from maltreatment, the colors fading from the sun. he walked towards one, taking it off of its pole and clutching it in a white-knuckled hand. this was what he lost his family over? some pretty damn colors and a name? he bit his lip, and let it float to the ground, eyes trailing to ghostbur’s music stand. when he tapped the jukebox, it bleated out a note, out of tune and creaky. he chuckled, but the sound was wet and sad. he would have to get ghostbur a new jukebox sometime, he enjoyed tommy’s discs enough, and it was hard for him to hold his guitar...until he could figure out how to bring his ghost back…

the banner moved behind him. he watched it shuffle, it’s muddle crinkling.

there was no wind.

phil jerked around, hand flipping out the trident attached to his hip, the enchantments glimmering menacingly across its hands, riptide sparking up the hilt, ready to propel when necessary. The tip came dangerously close to a throat, and phil’s breath stuttered.

and there he was, flag held tight across his shoulder like a comfort toy, his shoes and socks missing, sockets empty. his green sweater was mussed in comparrison to ghostbur, wilting cornflowers poking from his pockets, the stitching along his stomach half-done, translucent intestines visible through the present gash (he remembered it clearly, the way he was split open, the sword so large in comparison to his little frame, how his hands sliced on the blade as he scrabbled to grab it before it moved upwards-), his limbs hanging on by threads. he didn’t look sweet, like ghostbur, a little tattered but himself- no. tubbo was a reminder of his life. traumatic.

“ dad! you-you’re here! “

**Author's Note:**

> i was raised in a deep dark hole
> 
> a prisoner with no parole.
> 
> they locked me up and took my soul,
> 
> ashamed 
> 
> of 
> 
> what 
> 
> they'd 
> 
> made.


End file.
